


To Forgive Divine

by anisstaranise



Series: Shadows Align [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3659214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He turned to take in Dalton’s city lights spread out below, the multi-coloured glow stretching across the horizon. He hoped the view of his beloved city would serve as a reminder of his purpose, that he was doing the right thing to serve his city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Forgive Divine

**Author's Note:**

> For **Anon** who prompted #31 "You lied to me" from [this](http://anisstaranise.tumblr.com/post/112469478330/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you) prompt list
> 
> Inspired by **Doctor Who** 's "Dark Water" and features the iconic lines from the episode.
> 
> Thank you to **Anne** for brainstorming with me and to **Dee** for being the best cheerleader a novice writer could ask for.
> 
> Title taken from Alexander Pope's poem **An Essay of Criticism** , Part II (1711): _"To err is human; to forgive divine."_

He paced the rooftop, all his nerves thrumming and on edge. He turned to take in Dalton’s city lights spread out below, the multi-coloured glow stretching across the horizon. He hoped the view of his beloved city would serve as a reminder of his purpose, that he was doing the right thing to serve his city.

Before he could further convince himself of his motives, a gust of wind _swooshed_ behind him and a tall, lanky figure in red materialized in front of him, daintily balancing himself on the ledge of the rooftop.

“Good evening, Blaine Anderson.” The Flash always greeted him ceremoniously- he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Despite the formality, there was something intimate about the way the speedster said it, like it would be a waste not to utter his full name.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he confessed, suddenly doubting all that he had set up. Perhaps a part of him wished the man in the red suit would be a no-show, therefore he wouldn’t have to go through with his plans.

“Where else would I be?”

Guilt erupted at the base of his belly, the sickness that came with it churned within and threatened to claw out of him. He and The Flash had developed a unique kind of rapport over the last few months. He even dared say they were friends. The Flash confided in him; everything that drove the speedster to do the things he did, why he preferred to stay out of the limelight.

The Flash trusted him.

He shouldn’t be doing this, conscious that this was betrayal, but what choice did he have?

The Flash hopped down from the ledge and started walking towards him.

He nervously glanced at the ground as the speedster strode closer. Earlier, he had laid down markers on the rooftop’s flooring and when The Flash landed on them, it would trigger a motion sensor of the hidden cameras.

One picture.

Just one, that was all he needed.

He held his breath, willing his heart to calm its wild beating. The Flash cocked an eyebrow as if to ask _what’s wrong?_ Of course he would know something was wrong. Other than his best friend, Rachel, no one saw right through him quite like The Flash.

The speedster hit a mark and a deafening _beep-and-click_ pierced the heavy silence around them. He could have sworn his heart stopped. He had forgotten to mute the shutter.

A blur of red whizzed around the rooftop, causing his eyes to water from trying to focus on the rapidly moving streak.

A second passed before The Flash was standing before him, two of his cameras in each hand.

“Blaine, what is this?” He detected confusion in The Flash’s tone, a touch of disbelief.

“I’m so sorry,” was all he could say as he fought back the tears stinging his eyes. “I’m sorry; I thought I was doing the right thing.”

He saw The Flash recoil a few steps back, hurt glistening in his eyes.

“You don’t have a lead for me, do you?” the speedster asked rhetorically. “This was a set up.”

“I’m-”

“You lied to me!”

His apology died in his throat, his tongue leadened by the weight of his treachery.

“I wanted to write an _exposé_ on the pharmaceutical company selling off-labelled drugs that were harming thousands of lives,” he explained, vaguely aware that nothing he said could ever justify him betraying The Flash, betraying his friend. “For my article to be green lit, there were... stipulations.”

“Your editor wants a picture of me.”

“Yes,” he breathed, his heart heavy in his chest.

A handful of people with eerily identical symptoms had been hospitalized and when he had dug a little deeper into their cases, they all had one thing in common: Primarius Pharmaceuticals. The evidences he had collected and leads gathered from numerous confidential informants showed the pharmaceutical company was selling unapproved medication that could potentially be lethal, endangering thousands of lives.

He knew he had to jump straight to publishing an _exposé_ on Primarius Pharmaceuticals and alert the citizens of Dalton of the threats posed by the greediness of the company before their army of lawyers get wind of his intent and shut down the article.

However, the only way he could do that was to capture one, just one image of The Flash. It would be proof that the speedster was real; not to mention the number of copies _The Warbler Gazette_ would sell when a more concrete picture of the mythical red streak was splashed across the front page- which would please his editor tremendously.

He was caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea. On one hand, thousands of lives were at stake. On the other, his friendship with The Flash was at stake.

He made his choice. Now, he had to suffer the consequences.

The Flash held his gaze for a moment before the space in front of him was empty, a trail of red streak zoomed away from the building.

He choked on a sob, feeling sick to his stomach again. What had he done? Why had he even considered stealing a picture of The Flash when the speedster clearly expressed that he would rather remain a myth, an is-it-a-bird, is-it-a-plane kind of unconfirmed chatter? It escaped his mind that perhaps The Flash clung to anonymity because there were people he wanted to protect, people he loved and any verification of his existence would put them all in danger.

What had he done?

He tried to move but his soles were anchored in place, weighted by the guilt.

A moment passed before the familiar _swooshing_ sliced through the air. His heart heaved with gladness; he was sure he would never hear that _swooshing_ again after tonight. Not after what he had done.

Silently, The Flash stepped forward to hand over one of the DSLR cameras he had stealthily hid earlier to capture an image of the speedster.

He hesitantly accepted, unsure what to make of the gesture, his eyes never leaving The Flash. The flickering glow of the liveview display stole his attention and he glanced down at the camera in his hands. The still image was of a burning building- a factory judging from the structure, the “Play” symbol emblazoned in the center of it.

Instinctively, he tapped the screen with a trembling finger. The video played; the camera’s angle was from a high vantage point- hung from a tree, or another building perhaps? Then a familiar blurry streak of red zoomed across the screen and into the burning building. One by one, people started materializing out on the lot, safe from the fire. He watched the screen in concentration. The rescue continued for a few minutes as more and more people were zoomed out until sirens wailed in the background. He half expected for the red streak to bolt away from the scene but to his surprise, The Flash stopped right in front of the camera for a good few seconds and looked straight into it. Then, he was gone. And the recording ended.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, perplexed. Why did The Flash deliberately record the rescue?

“For your editor,” The Flash said, his voice cold.

“Why would you do this? After I-”

“Lied to me? Lured me here to get a picture like some sort of animal?” The words speared through him, cutting at his heart, his conscience. “You betrayed my trust, Blaine. You betrayed our friendship,” the speedster bellowed.

He knew all of this, but to hear The Flash voice them was too much for him to bear.

“Then why are you helping me?” he yelled, his voice shaking along with his entire body. He didn’t understand. Why?

“Why?” the speedster repeated breathily as if to ask _isn’t it obvious?_ “You’re my friend, Blaine. Do you really think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?”

His heart stuttered at the words, his breath hitched in his chest.

The Flash was more than a suit; he was a man with the biggest heart. He didn’t know what he did to deserve such a friendship with such a wonderful man, but he wasn’t about to jeopardize it- not again, not ever.

Before he could manage to utter a word, the speedster moved backwards towards the ledge.

“Write your _exposé_ , Blaine Anderson. Go save the world,” The Flash quipped, a small smile playing on his lips. Then, the speedster disappeared, leaving behind a line of red away from the rooftop.

 

\---END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments welcomed.


End file.
